Insomnia

Loneliness nibbling holes 
Inside is a lot of empty holes. 
Maybe they will fill with cheese, 
at night the moon was a big white ball. 
Head inside the half of 
the kingdom of words, 
they are full of the writer's skull. 
The sleepless airship when 
dig up something, when 
strikes lunacy. 
Words whether they have a future? 
Here at last arrived in the morning, 
I mixed the words of a fuss soup 
I write to you.